


Like Us

by static_abyss



Series: Soul Marks [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Character of Color, Gen, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 01:45:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4545402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/static_abyss/pseuds/static_abyss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melissa McCall didn't change her son's name to Delgado when Rafael left, because she wanted just one thing in his life to be easy. He looks so much like her, sometimes Melissa is afraid that he will hate her. Never for Rafael leaving, but for how people look at him when he goes into a store on the other side of town, or the way people say, "McCall, <em>really</em>? Your last name is <em>McCall</em>?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Us

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of an aside in this same AU. Timeline wise it happens senior year, like in canon, and AU wise, it happens before Scott and Stiles have the talk about dating other people until they're old enough to settle down. This is also a self-indulgent piece, because I have so much anger pent up about the AP Bio class, and the AP Bio teacher, and the way she looked at Scott, so.

Melissa McCall didn't change her son's name to Delgado when Rafael left, because she wanted just one thing in Scott's life to be easy. He looks so much like her, sometimes Melissa is afraid that he will hate her. Never for Rafael leaving, but for how people look at him when he goes into a store on the other side of town, or the way people say, "McCall, _really_? Your last name is _McCall_?"

Scott stays on their side of Beacon Hills, most of the time, for which Melissa will always be grateful. On their side of the town, they know Sheriff Stilinski. On this side of the town, no one follows Scott around the stores, and Mrs. Baker next door would never confuse Scott for the gardener. Everyone on this side of the town knows Melissa is a nurse, and that Scott was salutatorian when he graduated middle school.

And if they know that Melissa tries speed dating, and they assume it's because Scott's father wasn't her soul mate, then no one on this side of town would think to blame Scott for that. No one on this side of Beacon Hills would think for a second that Melissa blames Scott for anything, or that Scott would blame her. But having the town know doesn't mean that Melissa always believes it. 

It doesn't mean that she sometimes doesn't sit in bed and wonder, if maybe she had just tried harder with Rafael, they could have been a family. Or, in the early days, when Rafael had just left, and the mark on Melissa's left forearm felt so heavy she felt as though she could collapse from the weight, she would think, _Maybe if Scott had come a little later_.

Scott should hate her, she sometimes thinks. If only for the things she thought, when Scott was nothing but helpful. He stayed out of her way for the first weeks, brought her tea when she didn't ask for it, and made sure his room was clean. He talked to her in a tiny voice, scared, but trying not to be. He never pushed past asking her where his dad was, and if he was coming back. 

She pulled herself out of it, started wearing long sleeved shirts to cover the, "you look lovely tonight," on her arm. It was still too heavy, heavier on nights when she remembered the way her mark burned when Rafael had said the words to her. 

He'd been standing in front of her, his hair a mess from the number of times he'd run his hands through it. He'd been drinking cheap whiskey, and Melissa could smell it on him from the other side of their bed. 

"You look lovely tonight, Melissa," he'd said.

The mark on Melissa's arm had burned the way her hand burned when she pulled the casserole out of the oven too early, the week before. The burn had been white hot and painful, something so sudden it felt as though she was choking on air. 

She'd stood across from Rafael, and she'd thought, _No, please, no. Anyone but him. Not him. Please, not him._

Rafael had left that night, and the mark on Melissa's arm was still dark gray, years later. But part of her knows Rafael was it. If he'd been a little different. If he'd just taken losing his job better. If he had cared a little more about what Scott heard. If he'd just looked at her and told her she was lovely the night she spoke his words and his mark changed. 

But neither of them had changed the way same way. They had been close, once. Scott had been the closest they'd ever been to soul mates. Part of Melissa wanted Scott to keep his father's last name, because despite the way they ended, it hadn't been all bad. The other part of her worries that she was selfish, that she puts too much pressure on Scott, that she asks for too much, that Coach is right, and if Scott had a dad, he would be better off.

The drop out form on her kitchen table makes her think that she's not doing enough. That despite all the people dying in Beacon Hills, and how Scott has taken it upon himself to be the savior of this town, that the drop out form is her fault. She looks down at the white paper, black letters spelling out the things Scott has to fill out. There's no line for parent or guardian signature, as though Melissa doesn't get a say in this. As though, like everything else that's been happening in Scott's life, this too is out of her control.

"Scott," she calls out.

There's no answer, but Melissa knows Scott heard her. She gets up from their kitchen, the single sheet of paper in her shaking hand. She walks out into their hallway, and waits at the foot of the stairs. She's still wearing her scrubs and sneakers, and her hair is falling out of its ponytail. She has to be awake in five hours to cover an extra shift, because Scott is going to college next year. But the form is in her hand and Scott wasn't going to tell her.

"Yes mom?" he calls back out to her.

She hears his bedroom door slam closed behind him, hears his shoes on their hardwood floors. She should tell him that they just got their floors reglazed, but she's wearing sneakers in the house. 

Scott sticks his head over the stair railing, and Melissa sticks her left hand straight up into the air, the paper wrinkling from the grip she has on it. He sees it, and the smile on his face disappears.

 _Good_ , Melissa thinks. 

"What's this?" she asks, shaking the paper up at Scott. "You're dropping AP Bio?"

Scott looks away, realizes that by doing so he's giving himself away, and turns back to her. He shrugs, tries to play it off, but he's not looking at her. 

"What happened?" Melissa asks.

"Nothing," Scott says. "There's just too much, you know? Kids are dying, and the teacher said--"

He stops talking, cuts himself off as though he's said too much. 

"You're not dropping AP Bio," Melissa says, sharply. "Not because of something a teacher said."

She stands in front of the stairs, her heart thundering in her chest. Her ears are hot, and there's a knot in the middle of her chest. She hears, "being a nurse is easier," on a loop, louder the longer she stands there. 

"You're not dropping AP Bio," she says, flat and emotionless. 

Scott just looks at her, his brown eyes wide. "Okay," he says, and the way he says it reminds her that he's still young.

He hasn't heard the things she had, but he will, one day. On the other side of town, or at college, or while he's walking in the street. The world is going to disappoint him, someday, the way it always disappoints people like them. His last name is McCall, but he looks like a Delgado, and there's nothing Melissa can do about that. But he's not dropping AP Bio, and if he wants to be a vet, then he's going to be a vet. She'll talk to him about this, about the way the world looks at people like them, but not today.

Not today, when she can see the way he keeps rubbing at his stomach, where his mark is. Scott's taken to taping gauze over it, as though Melissa hasn't seen Stiles's mark, as though she doesn't know who it was that said Scott's words. 

"Is something wrong with Stiles?" she asks, because this conversation is less painful than the other one.

Scott comes down the stairs, his knuckles white where he's gripping the handrail. He still won't look at her, but he doesn't take his hand away from his stomach. He takes a seat on the stairs, three steps from the bottom, so that he can look Melissa right in the eyes. 

"I'm not dropping AP Bio," he says. "Not because of some teacher who doesn't even know me."

The way he's looking at her, and the anger in his voice, reminds Melissa that she was ten the first time she noticed people treating her differently because of her last name. Scott is seventeen. 

"Okay," she says, putting a hand on Scott's shoulder and squeezing. "Good."

Scott looks down at his knees, nods. When he looks up, his eyes are sad, and his right hand is pressing hard into the spot where his mark is.

"What is it?" Melissa asks.

"I think there might be something wrong with Stiles," Scott says.

 _Again_ , Melissa thinks, and she's angry, so angry that Scott can't catch a break, that none of these kids can just be kids. But she schools her face into a mask of concern, careful to hide her anger on their behalf. She straightens up, like her father taught her, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and says, "How can I help?"

**Author's Note:**

> /STICKS FINGERS IN EARS. BLAH BLAH BLAH KIRA AND LYDIA NEVER ASKED SCOTT IF HE WAS IN THE WRONG CLASS WHAT.


End file.
